Speed dating makes sense on paper in that it cuts to the chase and requires you to rely on your first, and usually most accurate, decisions about someone. The only flaw, as I see it, is that many of us associate speed dating as a desperate cry for love, in the same way online dating used to be. Over time, as more and more couples found matches online and proved us wrong, the idea became more and more socially acceptable. The obvious problem with speed dating over the others, however, is that it doesn’t have thousands of members to browse through. The chances of finding a connection within such a small pool are limited. Possible, but severely limited. Regardless of the stats and probabilities, I head to Marco’s house after a long day at work, tossing math out the window in exchange for a sure-to-be entertaining night.

Excited, I arrive at my colleague’s place and ring the buzzer a few times. The peephole opens and he requests a password, to which I reply “tuna fish” and he lets me in. Unexpected for a guy in his 20’s, Marco has a very clean, well-kept house. In the bathroom, I change from my work clothes and then open the door so we don’t have to keep talking through it. Putting on lipstick and mascara in front of a guy makes me feel like I’m in a relationship, which is especially odd since I’m getting ready to speed date with the very man I’m talking to. We leave in a rush, and within five minutes of being on the road, Marco pulls over in front of a liquor mart.

“Accessories?” I ask.

I get a nod, and in less than two shakes, he is back in the car with two mini, travel-sized bottles of Jack Daniels. One for me; one for him. With a stingy sip, the night has begun. As my friend and as a member of the opposite sex—hopefully in whom I’ll find some insight—I embark on a series of personal questions, loving every minute of it. I ask him about his take on dating. What his type is. When his last relationship was. Why it ended. I feel a little embarrassed that I asked all the girl questions I hate but really want to know the answers to. After this game of 20 questions, I uncover more and more of Marco’s optimism than skepticism. Without types or answers, neither of us is sure why things begin or end, and so we find ourselves in a similar love boat despite our genders.

We valet at STK, an upscale West Hollywood steakhouse on La Cienega. It’s the site for speed dating, and we make a beeline for the bar. We are seated when Marco admits he has zero expectations to find the love of his life tonight.

“Oh yeah. Desperation is such a turn on,” he jokes. “I doubt I’ll be into any of the women who would actually come to one of these things.”

It’s true, I agree. But who am I to make judgments on how other people should find love. Whether I’m here on “assignment” or not, under my light-hearted sarcasm, I’m the same as the rest. Against the odds, we are all just hoping to one day be pleasantly surprised.

We order our Jack-based staples: Jack and Coke for me, Jack and Ginger for the gentlemen. After squeezing the last drop of juice from the lime into my glass, I hear the bartenders talking.

“Did you know there’s going to be a speed dating event in here tonight?”

“Oh my God. No way!” the other girl gasps, making me feel self-conscious even though I have no reason to be.

One dark-haired, twenty-something English girl comes over and taps us on the shoulder. “If you’re here for the speed dating, please come into the other room. We’re about to get started,” she says very seriously, making my back straighten in anticipation.

Marco and I clink glasses, take a swig of our drinks, and make our way to the back room.

The British chick explains the rules to us: five minutes each. The boys play musical chairs and the girls sit at their designated tables. Remember your number and their numbers. At the end, pick your top five and if there is a match, you’ll receive an email within 24 hours with each other’s contact information.